Lord Voldy in Limbo
by Annetterz
Summary: After death, Lord Voldemort goes to Hell and catches the attention of the Devil. Armed with only a rubber stamp and a sarcastic conscience, he goes into Limbo as representative of Hell and a personal messenger of Satin. But revenge is not fogotten...
1. Prologue: The Death of Lord Voldemort

Lord Voldemort in Limbo 

Hello! This is a story about Lord Voldemort, obviously. Yayness! Heehee. Yeah ignore this.

DISCLAIMER)): And yes, this IS necessary! ALL of these characters of mine except Lord Baldy—I mean, Lord Voldy. He does NOT belong to me! And neither does Harry or any of the HP characters, and also Saitin and Julius Caeser do not belong to me. Obviously.

Prologue: The Death of Lord Voldemort

_Well,_ Lord Voldemort thought, _this is it. All of my deeds are catching up to me. It's off to Hell with me._

Overhead, Harry Potter leered at him. He raised the sword of Gryffindor over his head.

_Dying won't be so bad,_ Voldemort thought. _I'll be reunited with my parents—_

_You never met them, _his conscience snickered.

_--my, er, my friends—_

_You never had any._

_--and, erm, uh, well…_ His mind raced as he tried to think of someone._ …DUMBLEDORE!_

_You hated his guts more than your father's._

_Oh shut up,_ Voldy snapped. _And when did you arrive?_

_Some of us are very lazy._

_Undoubtebly, _Voldemort thought in disgust, rolling his eyes.

And then, Harry Potter plunged the sword into his heart.

Voldemort's last remaining scrap of soul was torn from his body and flung hither and dither by a rushing tempest unfelt by those still of breathing flesh and bone. A hole opended up in the sky, and endless tunnel that was a deep and blazing red.

_This is unexpected,_ Voldy thought. And his sould was sucked up into the tunnel to go down, down, down, into the ferocious maw of Hell.


	2. Arriving in Hell

Lord Voldy in Limbo

Yesh, I am back! And here is chapter one. I am very eager to continue because of the REVIEW I GOT!!! YAYNESSS!!!!! THANK YOU, RABID LAWN GNOME! And also, if anyone who is reading this story has the name of Gregory, THIS IS NOTHING AGAINST YOU OR YOUR NAME. I REPEAT—well, you know what I said.

Disclaimer: Ditto to the one I put in the prologue.

Chapter Two: Arriving in Hell

"Voldy—time to get up, Voldy—wakey wakey, Voldy—_Voldy—_VOLDY, GET YOUR FAT LAZY BUM OFF THE COUCH!!!!"

_Oh, great, my old second-year nickname,_ Voldemort groaned.

He opened his eyes. Where was he? He seemed to be in a sort of red-walled cell. He looked to his left. Two Roman pillars were on either side of a wall of fire. He seemed to be lying on a weird, one-armed sofa made of marble—an ancient roman sofa.

A small creature was buzzing around in front of him, wings going ninety miles an hour. The creature had two sets of wings, like a dragonfly. It had beady black eyes and a see-through body that was gray. It had large, bat-like ears and did not have any legs, just sort of melted into a haze down around the waste before it ended entirely. It wore no clothes. (Well, it didn't really have to, did it?)

The little creature was glaring at him.

"Where—where am I?"

"In Hell, dolt," the creature snapped. "You're in Hell."

Voldy tried to stand up, but instead he received quite a shock. He floated. He looked down and saw that he, too, had no legs. Instead, he was just a black mist that looked like he did when he was alive.

"What are you, anyway?" he shot at the creature.

"Me?" the creature said. It gave its wings a little wiggle. "I'm a conscience. _You're_ conscience, to be precise. Once someone dies, their conscience takes form to accompany them through their afterlives. Although," he said, and glowered in distaste, "People who go to Heaven's conscience's are a whole lot prettier than the ones who goes to Hell's." He shot a dirty glance at Voldy.

"This would have never happened if you hadn't been so lazy," Voldy said, with his nose in the air.

"Oh shut up," the conscience snapped.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Voldy said. "Anyway—how do you get out of this cell?"

"Simple," the conscience said lazily. It flitted over to the wall of fire and clicked its fingers once. The wall went down. The conscience turned to Voldy.

"Conscience's have unlimited access to the afterlife base that their Subjects were put into." It said smugly.

"Afterlife base? Subject?" Voldy asked quizzically.

The conscience rolled its eyes. "**Afterlife base**: A place where a dead soul is sorted into to stay for evermore, i.e., Heaven or Hell, or Limbo. **Subject**: The soul which the conscience is the guardian to for all eternity."

Voldy felt very stupid.

"Anyway, let's go." The conscience said.

They turned into a red corridor flanked by Roman pillars.

"Er…why does everything seem so—Greek?" Voldy asked. _Why am I not saying EVIL stuff? Death really changes you…_

"We are in the quarters of Julius Caesar. And yes, he did go down to Hell… a right barbarian, he was… anyway, you don't want to run into him; he's got it in his head that he's still trying to beat some enemy and he wants to recruit an army… and NO ONE says no to Julius Caesar."

_Being dead is weird,_ Voldy thought. "By the way, I haven't asked you something."

"Mmm?"

Voldy stopped in the corridor and hovered there. He turned to face the conscience, who had also stopped.

"Well, spit it out, man, we haven't got time to float around chatting!"

Voldy stared at the conscience.

"_What's your name?_"


	3. The Revealing of Gregory

A/N: Again, sorry to anyone named Gregory.

Chapter Three: The Revealing of Gregory

"I, er, um…" the little creature faltered, clearly caught of guard. The haze at the bottom of his waste shimmered weirdly, and Voldy assumed it to be the conscience equivalent of someone shuffling their feet embarrassedly.

However, Voldy was never a conscientious person in life, and he sure as heck (or should I say, _hell_, stupid death pun intended) wasn't in death.

"_Welllllllllllllllllll????????_" he said impatiently.

"Oh, stop it, this is very hard for me to admit," the creature snapped. "Well, my name is…" he coughed and said it very quietly. "Gregory."

"There, was that so bad?" Voldy said in a mock voice of a nurse who had just given a kid a shot.

"_Yes, _it _was_!" Gregory hissed. "It's an old family name. I hate it."

"It's better than Tom," Voldy muttered.

"_Tommmmmmmmm?_" Gregory shrieked, near hysteria. "What's so bad about Tom?!"

"Nothing, until I discovered that someone shared my name!" Voldemort shouted. "I couldn't bear to have any similarities to anyone at all! I wanted to be different! I still do! Besides, my wretched father, the one who abandoned my mother before I was born, the one who abandoned _me_, the one who was a, a _Muggle_," he spat the word out like it had a filthy taste, "and the one I killed!" He paused, expecting some grand emotional breakdown from Gregory, saying how he never knew and that he was sorry.

Instead, he got applause. Sarcastic applause, that is.

"Charming. Bra-**vo**." Gregory said, bored. "FYI: I know all that you did, all that you thought. I'm you're conscience, remember? I just can't understand your reasoning. I couldn't then, I can't now, and I probably never will. Now can we keep moving? You need to see the rest of Hell so you can start your manual labor."

"Manual labor?" Voldy did not like the sound of that.

"Just keep moving and don't ask any more questions, _Tom_."

"Will do, _Gregory_."

Gregory glared at Voldy. Voldy glared at Gregory. They glared at each other.

Gregory turned and floated down the hall.

Voldy followed. But an evil, insane, manic, twisted grin slowly spread across his face. Gregory would make an excellent sidekick. This could work.

And little did Voldy know, but Gregory was thinking the exact same thing.


	4. A Confrontation with Julius Caesar

Hellohellohello, this is the lovely Kyru updating again, after *checks* approximately a year and a half of not doing so! Splee! What inspired me to do so was one person adding this to their Story Alert, and one person adding it to their Favorite Story list! So a special thank you to Sayomi Mayako and neverlife! *waves and throws confetti at them* Anway, shall we continue?

Chapter 4: A Confrontation with Julius Caesar

"So, where are we going, Gregory?" Voldy asked as the floated down the hall.

"You're meeting with your sect master to discuss your acts of penance. Consider it your initiation into Hell." Gregory replied, keeping his eyes to the path in front of them.

_Great,_ Voldy thought. _Just where I want to be._

Gregory glanced at him. "Surely you concede you deserve it."

Voldy wasn't even surprised at Gregory's response to his thought. Nothing really surprised him anymore. "I'll never concede! Never!!"

"Woah, what's with the sudden passion?" Gregory said, cocking an eyebrow.

"I don't like to admit when I'm wrong," Voldy mumbled.

"Nobody does. But I'm not saying that to cheer you up, just so you know. I'm just doing it so you don't think you're special."

"But I _am_ special! I'm Lord Voldemort!" Voldy whined. He stopped himself suddenly. He was not going to adopt annoying habits in death.

"Oh, you don't you have to worry about that. You've already adopted annoying habits." Gregory answered.

"Really; they seem to have rubbed off on you," Voldy growled.

They bickered all the way down the hall, but stopped when they got to a large marble door labeled "Sect Captain". There was no window to the inside, so you couldn't see what was going on. Voldy didn't like that. He liked to know everything, and if that meant only using doors that had panes of glass in them just so you could see who was other side, so be it. (He had been teased for this philosophy in the orphanage, got the nickname "Peeping Tom" because of it, and learned not to speak of his opinions so openly.) He hesitated.

Gregory hovered by the knob and folded his arms over his tiny chest impatiently. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"I... I can't open that door."

"_Why?_"

"It's against one of my personal philosophies."

"And what is that?"

"I'd... rather not say."

Gregory rolled his eyes. "I can't wait for the next eternity. If you insist." He turned the knob.

It was a lavishly decorated chamber, but of course in the Roman style. Lounging on the couch was a big bear of a man wearing a toga on his body, sandals on his feet, and a scowl on his face. "Did I command you to enter?" he boomed.

Voldy, who was not easily intimidated, was intimidated. He hissed to Gregory, "Great, you ticked him off. Is this Julius Caesar?"

"Your sect master, yes."

"Didn't you tell me I _didn't _want to come across him?"

Gregory smirked. "Yes, but I didn't mention that you have to. Enjoy your meeting," With that, he floated out the door, which slammed ominously behind him.

Voldy turned to face Caesar, who had now gotten to his feet. For an annoying _thing,_ he had wished Gregory had stayed with him in the presence of this man.

"No matter. We must discuss your penance. For each sin in your life, you must complete tasks for the Devil. This includes pressing his clothes, writing his memos, fetching him miscellaneous objects that he can't be bothered to get himself--"

"Wait... no torture? No burning for all eternity? No being thrown into the fires of, well, Hell?" Voldy interrupted.

Caesar glared at him, irritated at being cut off. "This is a business, specter, not a jail. The Devil is the proverbial CEO, and you and all the other misfits are his workers. Actually, more like slaves. The divine entities that are not of the Earth have important things to do, too. The humans are horribly misguided. There is no play in Heaven, no torture in Hell. There is only work. Aside from Limbo, they were mostly about that; nothing happens there," he added as an afterthought.

"A... business? Like... like Muggle companies?"

"What... we are not these _muddles_ you speak of. Yes, a business. Work must be done, negotiations made. The Devil can't be bothered to do all the little tasks the humans do themselves when they are home from work. There is always work for the Devil; it is on a much larger scale than human careers. That's why the likes of you do it for him."

It was too much to get his head around. All this time he thought that he would be tortured... and now, he is told he is to _work?_

"Here," Caesar said, handing him a leaflet. "This is your penance schedule for the next week. You'll have today to get accustomed, but tomorrow you will work. I expect to see you at your work station at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. My regiment has a reputation for being prompt."

"Yes, er, thank you," Voldy said confusedly. He took the leaflet and backed out the door, or at least, he tried to; he forgot that it had closed when Gregory went out. After making a fool of himself when he slammed his backside into the hard marble, he grabbed the knob and lurched out.

Gregory was waiting for him in the hall. "Meeting go well? Did he try to recruit you into his army?"

"Er, no, but he said a lot of confusing things and called his sect his "regiment","

Gregory sighed. "He does that. Well, seeing as you seem to be prone to being confused, let me clarify whatever he said. Go on, then."

"First of all, what do you mean by 'sect master'?" Voldy asked as they floated back down the hall.

"Each spirit that goes into Hell is split up into divisions, called sects, depending on what kind of sins they committed in life. A sect master is a spirit (or, in the cases of the higher up sects, demon of Hell), usually a prominent person in their life, that went down to Hell and was so well-known for their sins that they became the head of their sect. Julius Caesar's sect is known for its bloody violence, obsession with power, and usually the deaths of large numbers of people on their hands. Fitting, isn't it?"

"Actually, yes," Voldy said, pleased that he had made such a name for himself even in death. _There we go; the evil thoughts are coming back._ "So the sects are like... are like divisions of companies?"

"Companies?" Gregory raised his eyebrows at the analogy.

"Well, Caesar said that Heaven and Hell weren't really what the Muggles made them to be; they're more like businesses, aren't they?"

"Actually, yes," Gregory echoed Voldy, pleased for once that he was starting to make his own connections. "Speaking of which, what's your penance schedule look like?"

Voldy looked for the first time at the leaflet he held in his hand. It had "Penance Schedule" in bold type at the top, and below that, an organized list of jobs for the coming week. "My first job is to "Stamp Memos" at 8:00 tomorrow."

"Ah. Yes. Make sure you're on time and presentable. This _is_ a business, after all, and the Devil prides himself in immaculate work. It's a competition between Heaven and Hell. Basically fighting over Earth. In my opinion," Gregory lowered his voice, "if they've been fighting this long, shouldn't they take it as the unachievable and just truce over a couple of drinks? I mean, nobody really _told_ them that Earth was the prize they were fighting over; their jobs are only to take care of the dead that come _off_ of Earth, so why...?"

Gregory continued to ramble on, but Voldy wasn't really listening. He was looking down at his penance schedule. It was a crisp piece of paper; white with serious black font, 12 point, traditional Times New Roman. Whoever ordered this to be printed meant business. Voldy admired someone who had complete control over the mass he was commanding.

With the prospect of no torture after all, he was beginning to think he might like Hell.

A/N:)) Well! I liked writing this chapter. Expect another one soon! Reviews = love!


	5. Hell in Hell

REVIEW ALERT!! REVIEW ALERT!! I got a review for Chapter 4!! A special thanks to J.!! *passes out hugs*

Chapter 5: Hell in Hell

You know those places that are so horrible/torturous/tediously dull/may or may not have once been the residence of one or more kitty litter boxes? People call those kinds of places "Hell on Earth". Well, Voldy had found his Hell on Earth, all right. Except it was in Hell.

Forget his aforementioned potential like of Hell. This really _was_ torture.

Voldy was standing at his work station, giant rubber stamp in hand and conveyor belt before him. He was flanked by hulking figures on either side of him; dead like him doing penance. They clearly knew the drill, because they were going about their work like pros. To his left and right, spirits taxied stamped memos away from the belt and to... other places that he did not know (although according to his schedule he would become familiar with on Tuesday).

The belt itself was annoyingly dysfunctional. It stopped multiple times, made a maddening rattling noise when it _was_ moving (if at all), and was an overall pain. Gregory was no help, in fact; he never seemed to be around. Voldy had no idea where he went after he dropped him off at the belt, but he assumed he was chumming it up over a cup of coffee in the break room with the other consciences, because they apparently weren't required to come either. So much for help.

No matter. He was Lord Voldemort, and he was more than capable of doing it on his own. Just get through arduous task, and then he could go back to his quarters and wait for what the next day would bring, hopefully a better job.

Luck didn't seem to be favoring him today, however. The spirits working around him seemed to have bullying on their sin record in their life, because they decided to pick on him after only a little while of working. Three brutes came up to him with stamps in hand, leering. He didn't recall them stamping with him...

"Look boys," the presumed leader said, "It's a little new boy."

"A n00b, eh? Kinda titchy, isn't he?" another said.

"Oi, let's give him a proper welcome, shall we, gents?" the third spoke up.

A chorus of agreement was heard, and the thugs closed in. _Oh, Lord,_ Voldy thought. _Wait—oh, me._

Despite his struggling, they pinned him to the ground and gave him a couple of smacks and kicks, poking and prodding him and calling him mean names. It was true that Voldy had had immense power in life, but without his wand he was not much for physical strength (though he was unbeatable at arm wrestling using his wand hand). His only talent was being able to mass murder whole towns and not feel a thing.

When they strode away triumphant and laughing, Voldy picked himself off the ground with bruised skin, a likewise pride, and a large bold-faced font reading "AUTHORIZED BY SATIN" stamped in red ink on his forehead. It would take only a week for it to come off completely, but the hurt done to his ego would take longer to heal.

Voldy was not used to defeat, however, and so he squared his shoulders, hoisted his stamp and marched back to his station. He was not a quitter, had never been a quitter, and never would be quitter, as long as he could help it (although he had also never been authorized by Satin, and that had happened and he certainly could not have helped that). He stamped like a thing on stamp pills, finished his daily quota early, didn't realize it, and so kept on stamping until Gregory happened upon him a few hours later, his arms like windmills and the stamp a blur in his hand.

"Uh... I see you're adjusting to the work quite nicely, Voldy." Gregory said, watching him.

Voldy didn't answer him. He couldn't hear him over the sound of his stamping.

"Voldy."

No reply. Only stamping.

"_Voldy."_

Stampstampstampstampstamp.

"VOLDY!!!"

"Can't—talk—working—stamps—zebra--"

Gregory floated over to the stack that was building beside Voldy. He hadn't even let it go down the belt.

"Voldy, stop."

"Can't—must—work--"

"No, you mustn't. You're done, Voldy. You've filled your quota."

"No—I'm--"

Gregory knew that this wasn't going to go anywhere at this rate. At least, not with words. He spun Voldy around with surprising strength for a three foot tall thing and smacked him with his own stamp.

Voldy pouted. "That hurt," he whined, then stopped himself. _Oh no. The annoying habit is already setting in._

"Oh, it looks like someone's already done that to you today," Gregory said, inspecting Voldy's forehead ornament.

"Yeah," Voldy sighed, deflated. "I had a rough day."

"Oh, poor thing," Gregory said sarcastically. He studied Voldy for a moment. The guy looked pretty down, and that was saying something for Lord Voldemort. Not being used to being the victim for most of your life made the fall so much worse, he guessed. He supposed he could cut him some slack. They were, after all, going to be spending eternity in partnership.

Gregory rolled his eyes at himself. He was getting too soft. "Well, you might as well tell me about it, then," he said, beginning to float down the hall. "Come on."

"I haven't been so humiliated since the orphanage. They pinned me to the ground, beat me up, then stamped me. AND they called me a n00b," Voldy wailed. He didn't even stop to scold himself for being a wuss.

"Typical playground soap. Tragic," Gregory said impassively, though not sarcastically. "Well, the good thing about being the n00b is, novelty wears off. Nobody's the n00b forever. Of course, time is on a much slower scale when you're talking about eternity, but hey! Soon, YOU'LL be beating the next n00b up and stamping their forehead."

"Oh, I'll never be accepted into their gang," Voldy sniffled. "I'm too scrawny."

"And the next n00b will be scrawnier. Maybe. If not, well, another good thing is that you're moving work stations every day. There's so many jobs to do, you'll barely do them twice over the next two weeks."

"But what if there are more bullies at the next station?" Voldy whined.

Gregory was not known for his patience, and despite his trying to cheer Voldy up, he was getting irritated at the sniveling creature beside him. _Why is the right thing to do usually the harder thing to do?_ he though exasperatedly. (As we all know, another thing Gregory was also not known for was his work ethic.)

"Oh for god's sake, Voldy, are you going to stop whining or do I have to smack you with a stamp again? You're Lord Voldemort! Are you going to let a couple of thugs and a lousy conveyor belt get you down after one day of dealing with it?" Gregory snapped.

Voldy took well to being slapped around, Gregory observed, because he pounded his stamp into his hand and said, "You're right! I'm Voldemort, dammit! Those thugs can leave well alone or else face the raging fury of my wand!" He pointed his wand what he thought was in a threatening manner at Gregory, but really looked rather silly because it wasn't a wand, it was a stamp.

"Uh, right," Gregory said, gingerly pushing the rubber away from his face. "Why do you still have that, anyway?"

"What, my--?" Voldy looked at the object in his hand and realized it was just a stamp. "Oh." It dropped to his side anticlimactically. "I miss my wand," he sighed. "In my quest for the Elder Wand, I never really realized how much worth it was to me."

"Well, that stamp might be some worth to you now, because I think trouble is heading our way," Gregory said in a low voice, looking over Voldy's shoulder.

Voldy turned to see the three thugs from the conveyor belt advancing toward him menacingly. His forehead burned, and it wasn't from blushing. This reminded him of someone he knew. _Oh, god, I am turning into my mortal enemy. Only his scar was much cooler._

"Show him what you've got, Voldy, wand or no wand," Gregory whispered. "You don't want another stamp, do you?"

Voldy bared his teeth. "No."

"That's good, because this time it might not be in such an agreeable place."

Voldy gave him a weird look. "Are you possibly gay?"

"Trust me, I wouldn't want to see that."

"Well, you're lucky, because apparently I don't have it anymore," Voldy said, gesturing to the haze at his waist.

The thugs were on them now. "Well, look what we have here, boys!" the leader sneered. "It's the titch from before, now authorized by Satin!" His cronies guffawed appreciatively.

"Oi, look, 'e's got 'is li'lle sidekick wif 'im," the third one said, eyeing Gregory.

"I beg your pardon?" Gregory muttered under his breath.

"And his authorization seems to have worn off a bit since our last visit, eh, gents? And Titch here's conveniently got a stamp. Shall we give him a fresh blot and maybe get his friend in the deal?"

Another chorus of agreement, and the thugs began to close in again.

Voldy gripped the stamp and held it before him. "Excuse me, _gents_, but there seems to be a bit of a problem with that," he said, his voice strong.

"Oh? And what's that?" the leader chuckled, humoring him for sport. _I am not a sport. I am Lord Voldemort, armed with a stamp, and it will have to do._

"Well, you seem to lack authorization as well. May I?" Without waiting for an answer, Voldy charged at them full speed and slammed into the biggest one, knocking the wind out of him. He pounded repeatedly on his face with the stamp, leaving no ink but definitely a bruise. The other thugs were upon him in an instant, but Gregory came up behind them and began to bite them with his pointy teeth. They endured it, however, but only enough to grab Voldy and throw him to the ground, then back away.

"You think you've won this round, titch, but the battle's just begun. We'll see you around. Count on it."

Voldy watched with a growing sense of triumph as they went off to their own sect. He, Voldy, had defeated three opponents singlehandedly with no wand.

"Not _singlehandedly_, you twit," Gregory growled, tuned in to his thoughts. "And you only really took out one of them. I did the rest."

"Well, fine, I guess you're right," Voldy conceded, but not grudgingly. Their partnership was starting to work out quite nicely.

Gregory gestured to the stamp. "You going to return that, then?"

Voldy looked down the hallway where he could vaguely see the conveyor belt, moving as slowly as ever. He palmed the stamp in his hand. "No," he said. "I think I've found it's worth."

"You're keeping it? As a _weapon?_" Gregory said skeptically.

Voldy grinned wickedly. "Well, it isn't any Elder Wand, and it certainly isn't my wand, but it will do."


	6. SubPar

So sorry about the sporadic updating, people!! I'm terrible about that, but I _am_ doing better than I used to. And plus, even with my unreliability, I still seem to be accumulating readers! (Okay, one, but still!!)

Chapter 6: Sub-Par

Gregory was right about the jobs. For the first _three_ weeks, Voldy never repeated a job. He mailed memos, he worked in the laundromat, he even got to clean Julius Caesar's quarters once (though that job he'd _literally_ never repeat; Caesar came in an hour after Voldy's shift had finished to find him standing over a broken bust of a main Roman god, pointing his stamp at it and saying, "_Reparo_, damn you!" furiously).

Ahhhhh. His stamp. His little rubber security blanket. It had replaced so much for him in death: his wand, Nagini, even all of his Death Eaters (it was better at the job than Gregory; he slipped up and called him "minion" once and learned never to do that again). Ah well, he'd never needed his Death Eaters, not really. They were really just poster children to his life's campaign: _There are only two types of Muggles in this world: The ones killed by me, and—oh yes, any other second group doesn't exist anymore, because I KEEL THEM!!!_

Oh yes, he was made fun of for it. But he was made fun of for a lot of things: the stamp, his tiny size, and the sad lack of hair on his head. And so, he decided not to take it to heart, though they clearly meant it that way.

Voldy was still one of the n00bs, yes, but he was not the only n00b. It was impossible to be the only n00b; people died every day. Sure, he was singled out because he hovered about his work clutching a stamp, but he wasn't beaten up as much.

Okay, who was he kidding. He was the dorkiest spirit in his unit. Only two months into eternity and his colleagues had made it clear that he would never fit into any of the previously formed gangs, groups, posses, etc., unless he made his own that no one would ever in their right mind join (except for the insane, because, well, they were not in their right mind).

The power he had harnessed in life was lost. He had no friends, but he was used to that. He just wasn't used to being the victim of cruelty. But at least he had Gregory, who was not a friend, but not a constant annoyance, either.

And the stamp. Never forget the stamp.

_Oh, Dumbledore, where are you now?_ Voldy thought one day as he sat idly in his room, trying to think of names for his stamp.

"Up in Heaven, yukking it up with the best, because he was good and you were... sub-par. No, worse, you were—dare I say it?--_hellish_." Gregory replied to his thoughts, entering.

"I was not _hellish_. I was... lord-like. A lord lording over his subjects," Voldy answered thoughtfully.

"You mean a lord killing any of his subjects he didn't like, i.e., those of non-magical descent," Gregory pointed out.

"Oh shut up," Voldy snapped. "But you're right about one thing: I wasn't sub-par. Sub-par is for the Limbo-goers, you fool."

"How am I a fool if you conceded I was _right_?" Gregory retorted.

"Just because you are a silly three-foot thing that flies," Voldy dismissed him with a wave of his stamp.

"This coming from the guy who carries around a _stamp_ for protection," Gregory muttered.

"_This_ coming from the most powerful wizard in the world, who answered to no one!"

"_Was,_" Gregory corrected. "That's all gone now. And seeing as it's _changed,_ you've got someone to answer to now: Julius Caesar's calling you to his quarters."

Voldy groaned. He hadn't particularly enjoyed his first encounter with his sect master, his second had been worse, and now his _third?_

"Afraid he's going to impale you with one of the bust shards?" Gregory snickered. "Come on, no use delaying it."

Voldy gripped his stamp more tightly and followed Gregory out the door.

**

Two pairs of ancient red eyes had been watching Voldy.

Of course, they'd been watching Voldy through a 48" plasma screen, but they'd been watching him nonetheless.

He was... different. Had strange habits, that was true, but Satin had a few strange tics himself, so he allowed room for err.

He was—what do they call them now?--ah yes, a _n00b_, but he was unique. And he relished power in his life.

The Devil liked that. Seemed like they had some things in common.

Watching Voldy walk down the hall to his sect master's quarters, Satin allowed himself a smile, something he did not do often but liked, and so used it as a reward. He replayed Gregory's words in his head. Maybe it was time to become sub-par.

A/N: Sorry this is kind of short, guys!! I'll do much better next time!!


End file.
